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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023956">᭹apprentice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Gen, Wholesome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:00:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,600</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24023956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's waiting for Malcolm when he walks home, and he knows everything about Malcolm from the online Justice Quest forum. His biggest fan.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>᭹apprentice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts">Jameena</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Malcolm walked home thinking about what he’d do when he got there, having actually gotten out of the precinct while the sun was still up. It was waning, sure, but he probably had enough time to let Sunshine out for flying time before she had to sleep.</p><p>“Are you lightinthedark?” A young boy, maybe ten, asked outside Malcolm’s door.</p><p>Malcolm stutter-stepped at the use of his pseudonym in public.</p><p>“Mr. Bright, I mean,” the boy tried again, his hands wringing anxiously.</p><p>It didn’t feel much better that the boy knew his pseudonym translation to his real name. But Malcolm supposed that wasn’t as bad as him having located his address. “Can I help you?” Malcolm asked, taking in his tightly wound brown hair and heavy backpack straps.</p><p>“I’ve been following the Brooklyn stabbing on Justice Quest,” the boy explained. “And how you don’t think it was random.”</p><p>Malcolm nodded his head.</p><p>“That was my dad,” he continued. “I’ve looked at all the pieces of evidence, and I have my own conclusions.” He swung around his backpack.</p><p>Malcolm crouched to the boy’s level. “Wait a second,” he requested. “I’m Bright,” he held out his hand.</p><p>“Neil.” The boy’s dark hand fell into Malcolm’s light to shake it.</p><p>“Do you have a guardian with you?” Malcolm asked, looking around the block. No one stood out as waiting for him.</p><p>“No. I’ve learned a lot about criminology, and I wanted to run my theories by you.” Neil’s big brown eyes looked into Malcolm’s.</p><p>Malcolm smiled. “Okay. Can we call your guardian? They might be worried about you,” he said patiently.</p><p>The boy already had his phone out of his pocket. “Mom — I found Mr. Bright! He can tell me — “ He stopped and stretched the phone out to Malcolm. “She wants to talk to you.”</p><p>Malcolm brought the phone to his ear. “I am <em>so</em> sorry,” the woman rushed out in apology. “He’s overzealous.”</p><p>“He’s a kid.” Malcolm laughed. “Who am I speaking with?”</p><p>“Jemma Thompkins,” she said, flustered.</p><p>“Hi, Jemma. I’m Bright. I work with the police. I don’t know what you know about me — “ Malcolm started, trying to share things that might help him feel more at ease if he were the parent in this situation.</p><p>“Criminal psychologist, NYPD consultant, former FBI agent, graduate of Harvard, city boy,” she rattled off.</p><p>“Wow.” Edrisa had a run for her money.</p><p>“Neil is very smart. He will also sound like a borderline stalker. He’s your biggest fan.”</p><p>“Sounds like it.” At least he seemed most interested in information.</p><p>“He’s nine. His therapist says now that he’s getting older, he’s wanting to understand, to process what happened to his father.”</p><p>Something he was all too familiar with. “I don’t mind talking him through my research. But I’d prefer we all sit together. Maybe at the library.”</p><p>“You don’t have to,” she sounded apologetic.</p><p>“I’d be glad to. Take my contact info and give a call if you’d like to meet up.”</p><p>He shared his phone number and listened as she read it back.</p><p>“I could have an officer take him home,” Malcolm offered.</p><p>“It’s alright — he knows his way. Sure found himself there, didn’t he?” She chuckled.</p><p>“That he did. I’ll give you back to him.”</p><p>Neil spoke on the phone a few more moments, Malcolm overhearing, “<em>You can’t do that!</em>” from Jemma, and put his phone back in his pocket. “My mom said I have to go home, but we can meet you at the library another time.” Neil took his backpack off and held out a binder from it. “Can I leave this with you? It’s all my research. You can read it and come prepared to talk about it.”</p><p>Malcolm smirked. “Sure.”</p><p>“Thank you. Goodnight, Mr. Bright.”</p><p>The boy walked away, his steps slow with the weight of the backpack on his shoulders, leaving Malcolm with a vision of his younger self.</p>
<hr/><p>The binder was full of printouts highlighted in yellow, always yellow with precision straight lines. Notes in the margins. Photographs and prints that looked like came from microfiche. Hours upon hours of work to answer one question: what happened to his father?</p><p>Malcolm already knew the answer. Eight years ago, he was targeted in a hate crime. It had been logged as a random act of violence as the man was walking home, but he had tied together a long string of evidence to demonstrate it was not.</p><p>That same evidence sat in piles of clippings in front of him. In the back of the materials, locked into the rings of the binder, was a formally typed double-spaced paper titled <em>The Murder of Ebram Thompkins</em> with Neil’s name underneath.</p><p>Shit. It looked strikingly like his thesis. Except the boy was nine. <em>You were too, once.</em> The whole binder was similar to Malcolm's box on The Surgeon, locked in the back of a drawer upstairs. Neil's binder could see daylight.</p><p>Where Malcolm struggled, the boy seemed fine. One was a big difference from ten. But he knew firsthand looks could be very deceiving. Were they here?</p><p>
  <em>I don't remember my father. He died during that time memories are transient and you need to rely on someone else to tell the story. His story was shaped by a neighborhood burying hate crimes. In this analysis, I'll examine what I've found as a collective truth.</em>
</p><p>Malcolm paused, impressed with the first paragraph. This was heavy. Eloquent. Stated with the precision of someone who had tracked down all the answers and reached a conclusion.</p><p>Malcolm kept reading to see if they had reached the same destination.</p>
<hr/><p>Malcolm reserved a small meeting room in the library and went in to setup. He put tape and markers in the middle of the table and set out his folder and Neil’s binder. He was double-checking everything when Neil walked in.</p><p>“Hi, Mr. Bright!” the boy smiled and waved.</p><p>Malcolm felt much better about his choice of suit when he saw the boy had a tie and sweater on in place of a jacket, imitating Malcolm's outfit from earlier in the week.</p><p>“Hi, Neil,” Malcolm returned. “Hi, Jemma.” He smiled to Neil's mother and shook her hand, meeting her for the first time.</p><p>“Thanks for meeting with us,” Jemma shared, resting her hand on her son’s shoulder.</p><p>“Thank you, Mr. Bright. I'm sorry for showing up at your home,” Neil spoke, clearly rehearsed.</p><p>"It's okay," Malcolm said and they all sat down at the table. "Would you like water?" Malcolm asked, reaching into his bag. "I have a few extra."</p><p>Neil looked to his mother, and she nodded. "Yes, please," Neil requested, and Malcolm handed him one. "Thanks."</p><p>Malcolm tipped another one toward Jemma, yet she shook her head to decline.</p><p>"I read your paper," Malcolm shared. “You’ve done a lot of hard work.”</p><p>Neil’s eyes looked at everything across the table while he talked. “I just followed the evidence. Like you explained — you can find a lot if you just look.”</p><p>It was weird getting quoted by a kid. Was this what Gil had felt like? Was he this kid’s Gil? The prospect was daunting. He refocused on the boy, not wanting to get lost in his own head. “Would you like to present your findings? You can do it just like we do at the precinct.” He gestured to the materials on the table. “Up on the walls, the table — whatever works for you.”</p><p>Neil eagerly hopped up and started going through his binder tacking things to the whiteboard on one wall. Malcolm moved around the other side of the rectangular table to give him space to work, sitting next to Jemma.</p><p>“Thank you for doing this,” Jemma said quietly.</p><p>“Of course,” he returned.</p><p>After several minutes, the whiteboard was filled with meticulously placed papers. Neil turned back around, hands fidgeting in each other. “How do I do this?”</p><p>“Talk us through what you found. In any order you want,” Malcolm explained. Neil nodded. “You can take a break or stop at anytime. It’s all up to you.”</p><p>“Mr. Bright, I want to know what you think,” he pressed.</p><p>“I’ll share along the way,” Malcolm promised, “Don’t worry.”</p><p>“Mr. Thompkins was an activist,” Neil spoke like a teacher.</p><p>“Your dad,” Jemma interjected.</p><p>“Yes. But he wasn’t public about it. Didn’t put a name on it like they do on the news. He did small things for people in the community like getting them higher wages, making sure they could get to school, offering childcare.”</p><p>“Holding open forums in the bookshop so people could say their piece,” Jemma added.</p><p>“I researched the history of all the causes he cared about — that’s all these really old clippings from the fancy microfiche machine,” Neil shared, thumbing through a large stack in the binder he hadn’t put onto the board.</p><p>Malcolm nodded.</p><p>Neil pointed to one section of the board, stretching for a photocopy of a newspaper print. “On the evening of April 4th, 2012, he was walking home from his job managing a bookstore.” </p><p>“Owning,” Jemma reminded.</p><p>“He managed it too,” Neil rebutted and resumed his narrative. “Around 11PM, he walked home, same time as usual, same route as usual. What was reported as one man, but now we know was most likely four, stabbed him and left him for dead.”</p><p>Jemma appeared more affected by the readout than her son. Emotion hid behind an eight year wall, but her hands clasped together tighter, her breath held in a steady pattern.</p><p>Neil just continued on. “The meeting that night was on gang activity in the neighborhood. How to find ways to coexist.”</p><p>“He knew you couldn’t get rid of it,” Jemma said quietly.</p><p>“Police found a local gang member, Gus Welch, responsible for the stabbing. Which was correct — his fingerprints were found on the weapon.” Neil pointed across a few different articles and photos. “But he wasn’t the <em>only</em> one responsible for his murder.”</p><p>Neil looked to Malcolm, his eyes seeking validation. “You’re doing great so far,” Malcolm shared. Ainsley would be impressed with his investigative skills. Malcolm pushed that thought away too, his sister now a topic he couldn’t talk about. How was this kid so…fine?</p><p>“The newspapers are from my mom and the library, and the articles and photos are from the Internet,” Neil cited his sources.</p><p>“That’s great work,” Malcolm encouraged.</p><p>“I read that you might use some police databases.”</p><p>“Yes, we do. Many of them. That’s how the fingerprints were matched, for instance.”</p><p>Neil nodded and returned his attention to the board. “There was a lot of bruising on Mr. Thompkins like he’d been kicked many times. Mr. Welch was wearing rounded-toed boots. Some of the bruises were not consistent with that. Also, Mr. Welch was right-handed — he would have braced himself with his left hand and stabbed with his right. There were grip bruises from a right hand.”</p><p>“Could be they grappled first,” Malcolm offered in rebuttal, seeing how he would react.</p><p>“Or someone else was holding him down while he was stabbed,” Neil returned, unfazed by the challenge. “I compared this murder to similar gang activity in the neighborhood, and the victims weren’t usually this…beat up. The longer they stayed with a victim, the more likely they would be spotted.”</p><p>Malcolm nodded, agreeing with him.</p><p>“So I looked at what happened after. The bookstore closed. The meetings disappeared — “</p><p>“Went underground,” Jemma corrected.</p><p>“ — and three men got away with murder.” Neil paused and looked at the table, pensive, but not upset.</p><p>“How do you know three?” Malcolm asked.</p><p>Neil made eye contact with him. “Because you said so.”</p><p>“That line doesn’t really work on my boss.” Malcolm laughed, looking to Jemma and sharing a smile.</p><p>“You talked about DNA on Justice Quest.”</p><p>“Yes. There were multiple DNA contributions beyond Welch. A paper trail linking one of those men to being involved in the new lease of the space the bookstore was in. More records linking him to his friends.”</p><p>“They wanted us out of that part of the neighborhood,” Neil shared.</p><p>Malcolm looked to Jemma. “Yes, racism was a part of it,” Jemma turned to her son and agreed with him. “Your dad was trying to reduce that hatred.”</p><p>“And Mr. Bright proved it.” Neil glowed with a smile like it was Christmas morning. A warmth grew inside Malcolm that someone else could be so happy that he was able to help them.</p><p>“I provided evidence to be interpreted. I don’t prove things,” Malcolm corrected lightly, trying to temper Neil's enthusiasm a little bit.</p><p>“Okay. I want to be a criminologist. Can you talk to me more about how you did your research? I want to know what classes I have to take and what I have to read to become a super expert like you,” Neil kept going on a path to answers he desired.</p><p>“That’s a lot for one day,” Jemma reminded.</p><p>Malcolm went for the middle ground between what Neil wanted and what Jemma seemed to want. “How about we talk for a bit more, and then I’ll give you some suggestions to read at home? And if it’s okay with your mom, we could meet up again and talk about them.”</p><p>Neil rambled out a bunch of questions, ready to get all the answers at once, and Jemma smiled as Malcolm worked to catch up. It was fun being on the receiving end of a deluge of questions for a change.</p>
<hr/><p>When their meeting room reservation time ran out, Neil disappeared for the bathroom, leaving Malcolm and Jemma to talk.</p><p>“Thank you, Bright,” Jemma offered with a smile. “I know he’s a lot, and you really don’t have to keep doing this.”</p><p>“He seems really…well adjusted,” Malcolm shared. Incredibly smart. Neil would ask him questions all day if he could.</p><p>“He is. This is like a puzzle for him. He’s really curious,” Jemma explained.</p><p>“More difficult for you.”</p><p>She gave a small nod. “Yes. But in a lot of ways, it’s helped him understand who his dad was, and why what he did was important. And he’s all ready for a career now — “ She laughed. “ — so who am I to stop that?”</p><p>“I was like him once,” Malcolm shared. “And a kind officer showed me all the ins and outs of police work. I get what it’s like to have different hobbies than the rest of the kids. I don’t mind helping.”</p><p>“Just tell me if it’s too much,” Jemma requested.</p><p>Malcolm nodded. “Will do.”</p><p>“Mom, on the walk back there were two people frowning, one person with little expression, one person smiling, and one person fake smiling ‘cause I think they wanted to get out of here,” Neil reported, approaching them.</p><p>“Let’s go,” Jemma directed, and they all started heading to the exit.</p><p>“Can we take Mr. Bright for ice cream? I wanna see what kind he’ll get.”</p><p>“Maybe next time,” Jemma said at the same time Malcolm shared, “Lemon sorbet.”</p><p>Neil looked to Jemma. “What does that say about him?”</p><p>“That he’s wonderful for putting up with us.” Jemma guided him down the sidewalk.</p><p>“I’ve gotta see how he eats it.”</p><p>Malcolm chuckled.</p><p>“Bye, Mr. Bright!” Neil called.</p><p>“Goodbye, Neil,” Malcolm said and waved.</p><p>Malcolm walked in the other direction and texted Gil, <em>thank you</em>.</p><p><em>For what?</em> Gil replied.</p><p>
  <em>Just thank you. See you tomorrow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alright, kid. Get some sleep. You’re sappy when you’re tired.</em>
</p><p>A second text came in before Malcolm could respond. <em>You’re not high, are you?</em></p><p><em>No. Just happy.</em> Malcolm replied and laughed, a new feeling of lightness in his day.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>fin</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i didn't write exactly what Jameena asked for, but the idea instantly came to mind when i read her prompt, so she's responsible for the inspiration :)</p><p>her original prompt was: According to Edrisa in S1E12, “Malcolm Bright composed a 100% accurate profile of the Kingdom Lake Killer.” Apparently, he has quite a following on the true crime boards Websleuths and Justice Quest. Someone from that following has developed a dangerous obsession.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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